


Honey

by smjit



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Beekeeping AU, Fluff, M/M, Mild Smut, One Shot, Super interesting beekeeping content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smjit/pseuds/smjit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Marco is a hobbyist beekeeper and he finally convinces his long time boyfriend, Jean, to help out. Mostly beekeeping fun and fluff with very mild smut towards the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Marco would be a beekeeper. He just would. He is calm and patient and sweet and his bees would love him. However you have to get up fairly early to tend to them so Jean probably wouldn't want to help out, despite his boyfriend's passion for it.

“Just hold this frame for me? Careful not to tilt it too much, you’ll spill the nectar.”  
Marco was having a lot more fun than he had expected.  
“Are you fucking serious? They might think I’m stealing it, or something! And revenge sting me!”  
Even as he spoke though, Jean raised his gloved hands and took the comb-filled wooden frame, and Marco thought that through the protective veil he could see his boyfriend smile when the sweet smell hit him.  
“God,” He whispered. “That smells fucking fantastic.”  
Marco smiled as a surge of warmth for his boyfriend flooded him, taking the frame back when offered and slotting it carefully into the ninth, and final, remaining space in the box. His uncovered hands were more freckle than bare skin, and he liked to joke that they protected him more than gloves ever could.  
“Pass me that box would you?”  
Jean jumped to attention comically fast and almost brained himself retrieving the indicated box.  
“Okay, pass it here. Now pick up the smoker and- good, thanks.”  
Jean had preempted Marco’s request and was gently smoking the edges of the box and herding persistent bees back inside. The noise around them increased in frequency as those that had settled into place after the removal of the fourth box were disrupted once again. The change did not go unnoticed by his guest, and after placing the box gently back into place Marco patted his skittish companion’s shoulder reassuringly.  
“It’s perfectly normal, they’re just all up in the air right now. They’ll calm down soon.”  
“So you keep saying…”  
The next box was clean as well. It was late summer, and thus the boys were searching for any previously undetected swarm cells on top of the usual search for diseases. The hum gradually decreased again, as Marco had predicted, and Jean began to relax a little more, even opening the next hive himself on his boyfriend’s urging. He had complained quite thoroughly about getting up so early to ‘look at bugs’ that morning, but the complaints had died off as soon as they made it to the site. Seeing the activity around the hives had obviously sparked his natural curiosity.  
As Jean smoked the front entrance in preparation, a glimmer of sunlight shot through a patch of already turning leaves on one of the old apple trees in the orchard, illuminating hundreds of bees hovering in the air. Marco admired the familiar, yet still entrancing view for as long as the ray lasted until a cloud covered it once again, and looking back noticed Jean watching him, face clear but with the barest hint of a smile touching his lips.  
“What?” he asked teasingly. “Were you stung?”  
He laughed as Jean panicked, stepping back from the cream coloured hive and checking his suit frantically for gaps that would let the flying insects in. He stopped soon though, realizing he hadn’t been warning him of impending doom as much as poking fun.  
“Not funny,” Jean groused, patting the fabric around his neck nervously while Marco’s chuckles died down. “We don’t know if I’m allergic, I could die.” He stepped back up to the hive, the fourth they had checked that day in Marco’s modest apiary, and cracked it, removing the lid, remembering to move back a little as the ensuing rush of annoyed bees emerged. Quietly and efficiently they worked together stacking the boxes on top of each other, Marco’s registration number proudly emblazoned on each in dark blue paint. Once they got down to the bottom box Marco began his search anew, occasionally pointing out interesting features about the bees’ lives and the way each frame was ordered. In the second box of the main brood chamber he removed a reasonably old frame of brood, angling it so they could see better, and the two watched wordlessly as a brand new worker bee pushed off the final capping of her cell and emerged, freshly released wings held limply to her sides.  
“You’re a dad,” Jean said in an awestruck voice. “Are they usually so pale?”  
Pleased at the observation, Marco pointed out some more bees on the same frame.  
“They get darker as they get older, and the amount of fuzz on them changes too. This one over here is really old, from the last of the summer stock most likely, which is why she is so much smaller than the bees being hatched right now. As it gets colder the bees are fuzzier and a little bigger, and they live longer too.”  
Jean’s veil bobbed emphatically, bumping Marco’s in the process. The blonde boy laughed as his partner’s slightly oversized helmet wobbled and slipped down over his eyes, obscuring his vision momentarily. Marco pretended to be offended, huffing noisily whilst gently lowering the frame he was holding onto its side, using both hands to straighten the offending item. Vision restored, he retrieved the frame and rechecked it, finding a large, well developed queen cell along the base. He gestured to the still guffawing Jean.  
“Look! See, this is a nice queen cell, not like all those half formed practice ones we have been finding up until now. And because it is on the bottom of the frame rather than directly in the middle it is a swarm cell, and we have to remove it else half the hive may up and leave with her when she hatches.” He removed a little custom built box from his one of his chest pockets and gently used the sharp end of his hive tool to harvest it, being careful not to touch the extremely delicate tip. Once it was safely inside the box he returned it to his pocket, tamping the top down carefully to prevent any unwanted passengers. His body heat would keep the developing queen warm and alive while he finished his checks. Although it wasn’t the best time to start a nuc, or a new hive, he had a friend, Christa, in his club whose queen had just died, and she needed a replacement as soon as possible before the end of the season. Once the queen was settled he wiped as much excess propolis from his hands as he could and sent her a message. Knowing her, she would be there before they could de-suit, despite the early hour. Jean passed him the final box and they replaced it and the lid, moving onto the final, and biggest, hive. At eight boxes tall it was his most active and required a lot of smoke to keep under control. In spring he would split it, but for now he would just remove an excess box of honey and leave the rest on over winter.  
Jean stared at it in awe, the boxes standing equal with his chest. Marco half watched him while he restocked the smoker, pressing the bellows repeatedly to fuel the flame. By the time he was finished Jean was still staring at the massive ochre coloured set.  
“It’s huge…” He trailed off.  
“These are only three quarter depth boxes, else it couldn’t be that high. As it is this is too much, we are taking a box back with us today.”  
“Huh?” Jean asked, and Marco could picture the stupefied expression his boyfriend wore. “Won’t they chase us? They can’t be okay with us just running off with their stuff?”  
He shook his head, pointing out the box on a mini trailer they had wheeled down with them.  
“We’re taking honey, not brood. The frames go in that, then we shut the lid before any get in so they can’t smell it. Then we walk the long way back to remove any stragglers.” He handed Jean a large, soft brush and a bucket of water. “You are on brush duty. Get all the bees off when I choose a frame and then get the lid off and on quick so they don’t have a chance to reclaim it. Remember to keep the brush a little damp, it makes this a whole lot easier. Got it?”  
Jean nodded, this time slowly and carefully to avoid helmet issues and the two began to work, first completing the grueling task of checking the entire hive. That done Marco selected the nine best frames and the two quickly cleaned and segregated them before shutting up the hive. Marco grabbed the trailer handle and began to pull while Jean puffed the smoker continuously to dissuade pursuers, walking the opposite direction to where they had come from. It was a good twenty minutes before they made it back to the shed, and by that time any followers had been lost and the sun had fully risen overhead, turning the already uncomfortably warm conditions unbearable. They paused fifty meters or so from the shed, Marco releasing the handle whilst the trailer remained under the orchard’s shade. Sweat trickled into his eyes but he knew better than to wipe it, opting instead to dab at it through his veil with his sleeve. Across from him Jean cursed, apparently not knowing not to wipe your face when your hands are covered in honey and there is a layer of scratchy material between them and your face.  
“Honey in my eyes,” he groaned, continuing to rub. “Whyyyyyy.”  
Marco grabbed his gloved hands before he did any further damage, and dexterously undid the front zipper with his bare ones, slipping his fingers into his boyfriend’s hood and wiping the sweat away with his relatively clean left hand. He moved to extricate himself from the suit but Jean stopped him, eyeing his hands, a curious expression on his face.  
“Wait, c’mere.”  
Slowly, languidly, he opened his mouth and licked Marco’s right index finger from base to tip, collecting the honey on his tongue in a translucent golden pool before closing his mouth and eyes, rolling his tongue. He swallowed, and, almost automatically, engulfed Marco’s middle finger in his mouth and began to suck, licking delicately in an attempt to retrieve every bit of sweetness from his hand. He groaned.  
“Fuck, Marco,” he sighed, relinquishing the now clean finger. “This is so good.”  
At the unexpected silence he opened his eyes. Marco seemed to be frozen in place. He had unzipped his overalls at some point to reveal a high collared, white cotton shirt and was staring at Jean, normally tan face completely red and mouth half open. Jean realised quickly what had his boyfriend so flustered, and slowly, deliberately, wrapped his lips around his right ring finger, eyes locked on Marco’s. He peeled off his gloves one at a time, dropping them in the knee length grass that surrounded the tiny path before removing his hood over the freckled hand, releasing his ring finger and moving onto his pinky, gently nibbling on the end with delicate little bites. Marco had begun to unfreeze and, realizing his boyfriend was no longer unaware of the effect he was having on him and was continuing, used his spare hand to remove his own helmet. He fumbled a little when it came to pulling it over his head, but once it was off he went to work on Jean’s overalls, clumsily pulling the zipper down and pushing it off his shoulders, leaving him standing in a full sleeved cotton shirt and long lightweight pants. His hair, now free of the helmet, moved in the breeze, sweat soaked hair springing into gentle curls as soon as the air touched it. Jean knew his own hair was probably looking kinda gross because he had always been the sweatier of the two and bleached hair looks bad when it’s dirty, and he probably had helmet hair and-  
Marco stepped forwards, crushing their lips together before Jean could finish the thought and soon he didn’t want to. Actually, he couldn’t even remember what had been so worrying in the first place. Attempting to maintain his presence of mind under one of the more fantastic examples of tongue play he had ever been honored to accept he took Marco’s top layer off, tossing the overalls over the honey boxes and going to work on his shirt. Marco wasn’t wasting any time either, fingers moving so frantically the buttons were doing well to stay attached to the fabric. Then he shifted to help Jean who had been distracted by a particularly pleasing technique and was fisting his hands into Marco’s damp tresses. They both tasted like honey and the pine needle smoke from the smoker, a familiar combination that had never been so attractive to Marco. Now shirtless, he pushed forwards with more force than Jean had ever felt him use, and they collapsed painlessly into the thick grass, legs intertwining. He moved his hands over Marco’s back, pulling him closer, tracing the gentle ridge of his bare spine. He gasped as the freckled boy pulled away, then groaned as he began to layer kisses along his jaw and down his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, before reversing the flow and reclaiming his lips, resuming where he had left off only seconds earlier. His fingers crept south almost without Jean noticing, skipping over his chest, then his stomach, and finally hurriedly unbuttoning his pants before he even knew what was happening. Marco’s breath grew more ragged as the last button came undone and he rolled slightly, removing enough of his weight from the blonde boy that his hand had space to slip between fabric and skin, drawing a sharp gasp from Jean. He couldn’t understand how he had gone from being in charge, seducing his usually shy boyfriend with moves that usually left him in mush at his feet, to being completely and utterly dominated in such a fashion. And what was more surprising was that he really really liked it…  
“Marco? Maarcoo? Are you down with the hives?” a faint shout emerged from the direction of the front gate.  
Marco swore, another unusual occurrence, abruptly ceasing the rhythmic strokes his hand had begun and rolling off Jean fully, finding his shirt and buttoning it roughly, retrieving the forgotten box from his discarded overalls. He glowered at Jean, his brows knitted together and eyes dark.  
“Wait there,” he growled, stalking along the final length of the path and out of sight. Jean shakily got to his knees and looked through the grass, watching him walk around the shed just as another call rang out.  
“I’m coming iiiiin,” a high pitched voice skipped over the sounds of the heavy gate being dragged over the stones of the driveway. There were the familiar sounds of greetings exchanged, followed by general discussion noises. He caught some of the words ‘So grateful!’ and could also hear Marco’s voice growing more insistent as the conversation wore on. Finally after what seemed like forever he heard the raised tones of a farewell and the gate being reopened and shut once more. Then, muffled footsteps.  
He rounded the corner, running a hand through his hair as he approached. Bending over he kissed the still seated Jean lightly on the lips. Jean reached up, pulling him by his lapels back on top of him, already at work removing the offending article.  
“Now… Where were we?”  
***  
Afterwards, they lay in the grass, sun almost at its zenith and neither feeling the need to redress.  
“You don’t have any more unexpected guests coming do you?” Jean asked, lazily tracing circles over Marco’s freckled abdomen, pinching him lightly to punctuate the question. “Huh?”  
Marco shook his head, eyes hazy and movements relaxed, slow.  
“I forgot all about her, thank goodness we didn’t crush the box earlier.”  
Something in his voice made Jean want to investigate, and looking up Marco’s face was flushed again.  
‘So cute...’ he thought. His shy, sweet boyfriend was back.  
“So what brought that on huh?”  
Marco flushed deeper, suddenly very interested in the foliage above them.  
“I seem to remember you starting it,” he voiced finally, his voice squeaking a little on the final two words. Jean pushed himself onto his side, sliding along Marco’s chest until they were almost nose to nose. Marco had no choice but to look at him, and he could practically feel the embarrassment rolling off him in waves.  
“I,” he started. His face changed shades from pink to a deep magenta.  
“Yes?” Jean pressed.  
“It’s the whole thing. The smoker, the honey, you all sweaty and disheveled…”  
Jean grinned, kissing him sweetly. There was a smudge of dirt on his forehead, which he rubbed off, and he knew their clothing was a patchwork of grass stains but that was a concern for after they got up.  
As if reading his thoughts Marco strained upwards, standing with a sigh, pulling his boxers on and finding the rest of his clothing.  
“C’mon, we have to get this honey processed, it’s been left out long enough.”  
Jean groaned heavily, flumping down further into the grass, ignoring the amusement his boyfriend expressed over his behaviour. Finally he stood as well, pulling on the proffered shirt and following Marco into the shed.  
“Does this mean you’ll want to help me out every weekend?” Marco asked hopefully, shutting the honey-kitchen’s door.  
Jean pretended to consider, patting his sticky chin with his stickier hand.  
“Well, if it means I get free honey…”  
Marco pouted, widening his eyes beyond the normal limits of a human face. He moved to him, hugging him close and planting a kiss on his forehead. Then so quietly he almost missed it, came a tiny whisper. “You’re sweet enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the smuttiest thing I have ever written... Why is it so easy to read this stuff calmly but so difficult to write it with a straight face? It does end pretty corny but Marco is corny so it's fine. Thanks for reading :)


End file.
